


Sunflower

by aureo0h



Category: Clone High
Genre: Clone High - Freeform, How Do I Tag, JFK - Freeform, M/M, gonna add more tags soon probably, jfk clone high, pretty much just van gogh fawning over jfk, pretty underrated ship honestly, that feeling you get when socializing has to happen, van gogh, van gogh clone high
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureo0h/pseuds/aureo0h
Summary: Van Gogh had never been one for socializing. Sure, he had a couple friends, but never anything too serious. Until one day, he bumped into (literally) Clone high’s own John F. Kennedy. Since then, he had never felt like himself. His mind fixated on only JFK. How was he going to break this habit?
Relationships: Van Gogh/JFK (Clone High)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 230





	1. When I first saw you

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys this is my first ao3 fic EVER!!! if you guys like it or wanna see more send some kudos my way!! love u <3

Van Gogh had never been too social. He had always stayed in his house and locked himself in his room, rocking back and forth, as he look up at his failed attempts of replicating his past clone’s artwork. He had always tried to be exactly like the real Van Gogh, but he was always let down by his art skills, sobbing and realizing that the shoes of his clone in the past were just too big to fill, but this thought never stopped him. On the night that he cut off his ear, he just stared at himself in the mirror afterwards, warm tears streaming down his face and into the sink as he watch as the blood from his ear drip onto his clothes and onto the floor, forming a puddle, staring at himself in a sense of shock and fear, before abruptly passing out and slipping on the puddle, hitting his head and contributing to his mental instability. That was when he knew that there was something wrong with him.

He never knew who he was meant to be. Sure, he was the clone of the famous painter Van Gogh, y’know, the guy who painted Starry Night, but a lot of other people always tried to distance themselves away from their past clones. Van Gogh on the other hand admired and loved everything about his past clone. The way he painted, his mannerisms, and how much the real Van Gogh had been so relatable to him, — of course he is, — but not only in the sense that he felt like no one understood him, but also relatable in the sense that his sanity was slowly being ripped away from himself, seemingly out of nowhere.

Van Gogh buttoned up the last button on his coat, before looking at himself in a full body mirror nearby, taking a good look at himself before sighing and rubbing his arm. He hated looking in the mirror, not only because of his size and face, but also because of the things that he heard the voices in his head say when he stood in front of one. He breathed in shakily and grabbed his sketchbook and pencils, before walking out of the door and grabbing the sandwich in a brown bag his foster mother had packed for him. He closed the door quietly behind him, walking hunched over and staring at his feet, walking to school.

Van Gogh was very relieved that he at least lived close enough to the school to be able to walk to it and not have to take the bus. Social interaction always seemed like such a chore to Van Gogh. He looked up slightly and shuddered as he watched all of the students flood inside the school, talking amongst themselves and laughing.  
Van Gogh waited outside the school grounds for a bit, waiting for the crowd to die down. Peering over and realizing that there weren’t as many people, he slowly stepped onto school grounds, and speed walked inside. As he walked in, a teacher closed the doors behind him, as Van Gogh stand there anxiously, watching everyone shuffle and grab things at their locker, or lean up against it and talk to each other. 

Van Gogh huffed, gasping for air, before walking through the halls and to his locker. For the most part, he stared at his feet, begging for somebody to not stare at him, or even lock eyes with him for a second. He cautiously looked up at times, shuddering at how everyone else towered over him, as Van Gogh bury himself into his shirt. He fiddled with his hands, before finally making it to his locker. He sighed a big breath of relief, as he unlocked it and grabbed his books and set his things up neatly, just how he liked it. If his locker was untidy, that was all he would think about all day, and eventually go mad with how much he was obsessing over it, which is what he would do with anything that was untidy or dirty.

As he hunched over and walked to his first period class, avoiding everyone else and making his way through the maze, which was the hallway, he abruptly and accidentally bumped into someone, hitting their back with his head. He fell back with fear in his eyes, as he flail his arms and drop everything. He lay there for a bit, before rubbing his head and sitting up. He groaned, before slowly realizing what he had done. 

He fumbled to grab his stuff, on his hands and knees as he pick up everything and hold them thightly in his arms. Sweat dripped from his brow as he struggle, everyone staring at him in confusion and mumbling amongst themselves. He stood up, and looked over to who he bumped into to quickly apologize, and make his way to class as if nothing happened. He looked up, and was about to say something, before catching himself, as he realized who he had bumped into.

At about six foot, John F. Kennedy, also known as just JFK for short at school, was just standing there, a confused look on his face as Van Gogh stare up in a mix of horrible anxiety and fear. Van Gogh knew exactly who JFK was. Since he was so quiet, nobody ever assumed that Van Gogh would always be listening in on every conversation that happened during, and after class/school. He would always hear JFK come up in conversations between girls, and they would giggle, talking about “how much of a good kisser he was” or “how he was so good in bed”, Van Gogh visibly cringing hearing stuff like that.

JFK was seen as the sort of ‘king’ of the school, and Van Gogh always tried to stay under his radar as to not start anything, or get hurt even. Van Gogh meant to say he was sorry to JFK, but a sudden feeling of heat hit his face as he stare at JFK longer, fumbling to find the right words as he realize he had been staring at his face for way too long. He meant to say he was sorry, that was all. But this sudden feeling, and how everyone’s eyes were on him as the hall was silent, really threw him off. He eventually ended up saying,

“I- uh- S- uh- I mean- I uhm- I-I-I S-Sorry now.” He fumbled his words as he stood up straight as a board, trying to seem confident, and focusing on what JFK might do to him next, because he knew that if he was a six foot tall muscular frat boy, and a tiny anxious weirdo bumped into his back, he would be pretty pissed too, and the fact that he wasn’t dead yet surprised him. JFK raised his eyebrow as Van Gogh realized that he had totally flunked his words, and how grave his mistake was. He jolted up in realization, then rushed to class, all eyes on him still. 

He rushed into class and took a seat in the back corner, where he twiddled his thumbs and wiped his forehead covered in sweat. What did he do? Now everyone knows how stupid he was. He fumbled his words, now there’s a super high chance that that JFK guy was going to beat his face in until he looked like a totally different person. Van Gogh held his face in his hands as students went into class, passing him weird looks as they whisper to one another. Van Gogh trembled in his seat, as he felt like crying and just praying that nobody would remember this and that maybe, just maybe, nobody would ever see him ever again.


	2. What is this... thing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Van Gogh struggles to find this thing that he suddenly felt for the heartthrob jock JFK. JFK is oblivious, and can only really ask for a pencil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CANT THANK YOU GUYS ENOUGH FOR THE SUPPORT AND LOVE!!! thank you!!! <3 hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Van Gogh set his things up on the desk, including his sketchbook and pencils, as his vision is clouded by welling up tears. He looked around, as some kids glance looks and not very subtly make fun of him. This wasn’t out of the ordinary, no, but he felt more embarrassed than he had any other time. Van Gogh scratched the back of his head, clawing for an answer. Was it how quiet it was? Or how everyone knew now? Van Gogh shook his head, as a way to forget every question and start anew. As students continued to walk into class, Van Gogh sketching, he heard a sudden bag dropping onto the floor beside him.

Van Gogh jolted up, dropping his pencil near the bag, which was on the right. He bent over in his seat to get it, before looking up to see who was sitting beside him. Dear lord, he wasn’t ready for this. Why this. Why now. Van Gogh’s eyes widened as he pulled himself away instinctively, looking up at none other than JFK himself. JFK didn’t really seem to notice him, as he leaned back in his chair and talked to his other jock friends about all the ‘broads’ in the class. Van Gogh felt that heat on his face again, an alien feeling, that’s for sure. 

He slowly turned back to his sketch, his eyes still widened in fear and disbelief. Why had he chosen to sit back here? Was it to bully him? Make fun of him? Van Gogh reached for the bottom of the barrel to try and find an answer, before his thoughts were cut off by a loud voice.

“Hey, er uh, shortstack, you gotta pencil?” 

Van Gogh looked over, and his and JFK’s eyes locked, Van Gogh nervously pulling at his shirt’s collar, as JFK lean back in his chair. Van Gogh grabbed his bag quickly and fumbled through it, not wanting to waste JFK’s time, because he knew what type of stuff JFK and his ‘friends’ did to outcasts like him. Van Gogh eventually passed JFK one of his pencils with shaky hands, JFK taking it — a slightly confused face plastered on him, — and immediately using it to scratch his name into the desk. Van Gogh looked back at his sketch, minding his business.

JFK let out a sigh, setting the pencil on his desk and looking up at the ceiling in boredom, waiting for class to start as the teacher write some questions on the blackboard. JFK looked around the room, admiring every girl in there, before looking to the side at the smaller guy. JFK didn’t know his name, but he was sure he had shoved him into a garbage bin or two. JFK still couldn’t shake that awkward interaction in the hallway, but he knew that he was going to at least shove him in the hallway after class.

JFK looked over, before realizing that the kid was drawing. He leaned back further to try and get a closer look, albeit not very subtle, but he managed to get a peek anyhow. It was a half finished field of sunflowers, and JFK couldn’t help but watch as the guy’s hand go over every tiny detail, and how the shading made everything look real.

JFK was stunned. He had never really seen art like that before, but then again, art was never really his forte. It was always football or track, but that sketch really made him think for once. JFK was always the type of guy to blurt out whatever he was thinking, and today definitely wasn’t going to change that.

“What’s er uh- your name, pipsqueak?” JFK asked, a smirk on his face as the kid look over like a deer in headlights, JFK being able to see actual droplets of sweat drip from his forehead, JFK letting out a tiny chuckle.

“U-Uhm- It’s- Uh- V-Van uhm- Gogh...” Van Gogh replied, stumbling over his words as he try to form a coherent sentence, JFK not really understanding how talking to someone could be that hard. Sure, he let out some ‘er’s and ‘uh’s every once in a while, but that was just because he was taking his time. This Van Gogh kid always seemed like he was rushing to answer someone all the time.

“Well, Van, I, er uh, loike that sunflower thingy. That’s er uh. Cool.” JFK said as he rocked his chair back and forth, Van Gogh trying to make sense of this situation that seemed very out-of-character for the usual jock personality JFK held up on a pedestal.

“Hey, Haha- They should call you, er uh, Sunflowa!”

JFK laughed, Van Gogh’s face blushing a bright red. Van Gogh’s head was just static, as he try to understand if that was a compliment or an insult, but he couldn’t help but let out a small smile. Van Gogh didn’t understand this emotion, or feeling, or whatever you call it, but all he knew was that this thing wanted him to ‘have’ JFK, whatever that meant. Watching JFK talk in his Brooklyn type accent, how he makes hand gestures when he talks, how he looks and how much confidence he has, or how oblivious he was to almost everything, Van Gogh knew what the thing/emotion/feeling finally was.

It was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo O_O spicy!! tell me what you guys think of this or what y’all wanna see!


	3. What do I say to him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JFK is starting to rethink whether or not he had started to gain feelings for the outcast Van Gogh. Was it just a feeling of friendship, or something more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all... the amount of love i have recieved is AMAZING!! i’m so glad you guys like it!! thank you so much for supporting me and i will try to update often!! btw sorry if there’s any spelling mistakes, i’m usually super tired when i write these!

JFK looked at Van Gogh as he turn back to his drawing, watching and not even realizing that class had begun. JFK spaced out for a second, and had an odd thought in his head. When Van Gogh smiled, JFK stopped right in his tracks. He had never really felt any sort of attraction to guys, — aside from that John D’ark situation, — but now he started to rethink things. He thought that when this Van Gogh kid smiled it was, in an odd way, kind of... cute? JFK made a puzzled face to himself, as he had never really used that word. He only every used ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’, but never cute. JFK’s eyes widened as he looked back at Van Gogh once more, observing him closer as his face got warmer.

Van Gogh was tiny, that was for sure, and compared to JFK, he was at about abdomen height. His ginger hair was frizzled, almost seeming like he had been tearing or pulling at it, and his eyes had bags underneath, his face being riddled with very subtle freckles. JFK sat up straight in his chair, as he had a sort of existential crisis. JFK had always had one-offs, never a full blown relationship. Even with Cleo, it was more of a not really holding hands, but making out in the hallways type relationship. But when he saw this Van Gogh kid, JFK couldn’t help but imagine himself and Van Gogh holding hands. Genuinely.

Van Gogh’s face was a mix of nervous and happy, as, for a while, while he didn’t want to admit it, he always looked at JFK in the hallways, or looked at the back of his head during class. He always brushed off the feelings or emotions that he felt, because he thought it was just some sort of effect JFK had on everybody. But now that he realized what he was feeling, he could only hope that someone like JFK would ever even hang out with someone like Van Gogh.

But that nickname...

Van Gogh’s face immediately went a bright red, as he remembered the nickname that JFK had given him without a second thought. ‘Sunflower’... It had a ring to it, and Van Gogh did like sunflowers. He looked over at JFK, who was bouncing his leg in his chair as he look down at a sheet of paper the teacher had handed out, biting the eraser of his pencil and looking down at it, before setting his pencil down and letting out a groan in the fact that he was unable to answer the question. Van Gogh looked over, and it felt like time went much slower as Van Gogh watch JFK ponder, regardless of if he actually could.

After class ended, Van Gogh abruptly got up out of his desk and left the classroom swiftly, ending up in the same claustrophobic hallway. Van Gogh hated having to make his way through this maze of students, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t make it to his next class. He took a deep breath, and held it until he made it to his locker, letting it out in a sense of relief. He opened his locker and stuffed his notes and spare drawings in the locker, rubbing his face as he remember JFK’s innocent smile, and his odd choice of words, as he hug himself, a small smile creeping onto his face.

JFK looked left and right, looking for Van Gogh in a sea of people. JFK’s height stood over a lot of them, using this to his advantage as he observed where Van Gogh could be, holding his hand up to his forehead as if he were a pirate searching for land. JFK tapped his chin, trying to remember the different areas where he would bully and tease outcasts, before trying one of the several areas. JFK perked up, seeing Van Gogh hunched over in his locker, setting his things there and organizing it neatly. Seeing Van Gogh there made JFK blush a bit, before he approached.

He stopped himself, realizing that had no clue what to say. In class, he had no idea what he was feeling for this random painter, and he still, admittedly, didn’t really know what he felt. He just didn’t know what to say. He rehearsed different lines, talking to himself and gaining the attention of onlookers who looked at him in confusion, shrugging it off and writing it off to be just regular JFK.

“Er uh- Heya, Sunflowa! I loike ya art!” JFK said quietly to himself, putting his hands on his hips as he tapped his foot, looking for more answers to this daunting question. 

JFK clawed at his face, before letting out a huff and striding towards Van Gogh with a suprising amount of confidence, a small smirk on his face, as he approached the unsuspecting Van Gogh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER O_O.... remember to leave ideas in the comments if you have any!! thanks for the support!!


	4. Why do you make me feel this way?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JFK asks Van Gogh how he can be so darn cute, and sets up a date. Van Gogh thinks that JFK is going to beat his face in. Confusion and wholesomeness ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR SUPPORT!! i’m sorry if i ever forget to update school is just very exhausting... hope you guys understand!! much love <3

Van Gogh closed his locker door with shaky hands, as JFK approach him with confidence from behind. He went to turn around, but jolted as JFK place his one hand on the locker, putting Van Gogh between him and the locker, JFK looked down at Van Gogh with such intensity and confidence that it sort of intimidated Van Gogh, making him bury his face into his sweater. Many students were staring at them as if they had two heads, making curious faces, and some girls even made faces that just looked like pure disgust. JFK’s face was also red, as he pointed a finger down at Van Gogh.

“Look ere’, Gogh! I dunno what you’re doin’, but it’s, er uh, making me feel a weird way! What issit?” JFK said with a demanding tone, making Van Gogh want to cry, not only because of the amount of people who were staring and judging, but also because JFK had scared him.

“I-I’m not sure w-what y-y-you mean...” Van Gogh stammered, tears welling up in his eyes and clouding his vision. JFK stuttered and rubbed his face in annoyance with not being able to explain. JFK was trying to form a sentence, his face growing ever more hot and red.

“Y-You know what I mean, pipsqueak! I mean when you, uh, look all cute loike that! It’s not, er uh, f-fair!” JFK said, making hand gestures as he talks and tries to explain, running his vacant hand through his hair, trying to understand the feeling. Van Gogh’s face was red as a tomato as he try to answer the question without bursting into tears.

“I-I don’t... Know how t-t-to—“ Van Gogh was immediately cut off by JFK slamming his other hand into the locker as well, his face somehow a mix of passionate and annoyed as he stare into Van Gogh’s eyes intensely.

“The diner, tonight, 6! Be there or be square, Sunflowa!” JFK stated, before standing up straight and fixing himself and his hair up, huffing and clearing his throat before walking away with just as much confidence and a just as powerful stance as when he approached Van Gogh.

Van Gogh stood there in stunned silence as the other students shrug it off and go back to conversing with others. What just happened? Van Gogh clawed at his hair, feeling tears stream down his face, wiping them with his sleeve. Dear god. It was a ploy. Van Gogh realized that it was really just a mind game to try and get him to get close, and then for JFK to beat him up after school. Van Gogh shuddered at the thought, but then started to rethink his reasoning as he look at the other evidence. 

JFK had snuck in some endearing words with an almost impressive amount of effort. Van Gogh blushed a deep red, as he remembered that JFK called him cute, and called him Sunflower yet again. But maybe this was just another layer onto this elaborate bully? But JFK did seem sincere when he complimented Van Gogh’s art... Van Gogh looked at his watch and perked up when he realized he was almost late to his next class. As he walk to class and continue the rest of the day, he considered going, and after a half an hour of an internal battle between him and his head, he had decided to go, beat up or not.

JFK on the other hand, flashed a Hollywood smile to himself, as he start to walk down the hallway with a slight pep in his step. “It’s a date!” He thought to himself, as he walk to his next class, excited for 6 o’clock at night. Maybe Van Gogh didn’t know that this was a date? JFK didn’t really realize that his wording could’ve been a little bit more specific, but there was no going back on it now. And JFK being the usual brain dead jock, he didn’t realize how that conversation could’ve been interpreted by the anxious and sensitive Van Gogh. JFK was actually genuinely curious as to how Van Gogh captivated him, and how he could be so gosh darn cute. Regardless, both were excited in different ways. 

Van Gogh was excited for the potential that it could be a date, and JFK was excited that he could see Van Gogh again, in private, just the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL AINT READY.... JUST YOU WAIT O_O


	5. Date Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Van Gogh struggles with his appearance as JFK drive up to his driveway. Van Gogh’s anxiety is as worse as ever, and JFK is more narcissistic than ever. Going on a date never felt tougher...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YALL!! thank you for the patience in between chapters!! i’m really trying not to forget because i have a really bad memory. also, small trigger warning for wounds? love y’all :-)

As Van Gogh walked home, he pondered about the possible outcomes of going to the diner with JFK. Either JFK was manipulating Van Gogh into believing he had feelings for him, and then when he got to the diner, he would beat Van Gogh up with his friends, to which Van Gogh shuddered at just thinking about it. On the either hand, there was a slim chance that JFK also liked him back. 

Van Gogh entered the door to his house, and dropped his stuff at the front door, waving to his foster mother who was busy cooking dinner. He walked up to his room and closed the door behind him, walking up to his large, full body mirror in the corner of his room, which he would use for art reference. He pushed and pulled at his face, making faces at himself, before sighing and taking a deep breath. If this was real, he would have to ‘man up’ and finally crawl out of his shell. But if JFK did like him for him, would he really want him to change?

Van Gogh went to his closet and and grabbed some clothes to wear. He wanted to look nice if he were to even be in the presence of JFK. He grabbed a large, gray long-sleeved shirt which had some small blue and yellow paint stains on it — much to the dismay of Van Gogh, — but he didn’t really have any other clean looking shirts or sweaters. He grabbed some canvas pants, and brown dress shoes. He walked to his bathroom, and stood at the mirror looking at himself. 

He always hated having to take off his bandage. He had to take it off due to hygienic reasons, but when he did, he just had traumatic flashbacks. He took a heavy sigh as he slowly took off the bandage, closing his eyes before looking up at himself. His chest heaved as he looked at his ear, which only left the bottom corner of his earlobe. He cringed as he looked at the gruesome pink wound, slowly and carefully running his hand over it. The thoughts in his head started to make his vision go dim, so he quickly grabbed bandage and wrapped it around his head to at least cover it.

He breathed hard like he had just run a marathon, and tidied up the bandage, holding his head in his hands as the thoughts and voices slowly get quieter, but none ever fully disappear from his conscience. He exited the bathroom swiftly, going downstairs to get a quick bite to eat before going to the diner.

JFK pulled up to Van Gogh’s door in his red convertible, looking around at the front of Van Gogh’s house, admiring how clean the front yard looked, and how a small corner of the house was painted to look like Van Gogh’s clone father’s painting, Starry Night. JFK was wearing an orange varsity sweater, which had the school’s logo on it, some khakis, and black dress shoes. He ran his hand through his hair, and looked at what was on the passenger’s seat. After JFK had seen that Van Gogh likes to paint sunflowers, he had found a bouquet of smaller flowers that also had yellow petals and a black center, just like a sunflower.

His face went pink, as he imagined Van Gogh’s face looking at the bouquet he got him, before letting a smile creep onto his face, being proud of how good he was at this ‘dating’ thing. He grabbed it, and walked up to the door, fixing his sweater and then ringing the doorbell. He heard a chair move as he did so, followed with the noise of a woman yelling “One second!”. He smirked, before peeking up, remembering what he was here for. He was surprised at the sound of the door unlocking and opening. A middle-aged woman looked up at him, surprised, before looking down at the bouquet. Her face lit up with joy.

“Vinny hun! There’s a nice boy at the door! C’mere sweety!” She yelled into the house, before JFK saw the shy-looking Van Gogh appear behind her, jolting up and blushing red, before kind of hiding behind his foster mother like a toddler. His foster mother pulled him infront of her, smiling and holding his shoulders.

“What’s your name, hunny?” She asked JFK, her eyes open with joy and excitement, JFK smirked and looked down at Van Gogh, who’s face was red with embarrassment.

“Er uh, John F. Kennedy, missy.” JFK smiled with a cocky attitude, before his foster mother practically shoved Van Gogh out of the door, her face bright and happy.

“Oh, what a nice man you must be! Well, you two have fun now, won’t you?” She said, crouching down and pinching Van Gogh’s cheek. “Right, Vinny?” She said, standing up and waving goodbye, JFK waving back. She closed the door, and JFK looked down, chuckling.

“Er uh, Vinny, huh?” He said, questioning the nickname that Van Gogh’s foster mother had given him. Van Gogh scratched the back of his neck nervously, as he looked back up at JFK.

“D-Don’t remind m-m-m-me...” Van Gogh stuttered, a small smile crossing his lips as he bury his face in his shirt, his entire face red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love playing with the idea of van’s foster mom!! i imagine shes super supportive and a really happy go lucky gal!! :-D hope you guys enjoyed this one, and don’t forget to leave kudos!!


	6. For us to share.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JFK and Van Gogh are finally arriving to the Grassy Knoll on their very first date! Will either of them manage to get out of the awkward small talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE PATIENCE BETWEEN CHAPTERS!! i have been EXTREMELY stressed due to school, and piling on some art stress, isn’t really good for me. i hope you will all understand when i say that i will only be updating on weekends, that you guys understand. again, THANK YOU FOR THE OVERWHELMING SUPPORT!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

Van Gogh looked up at JFK, his face warm as JFK look back at Van Gogh, perking up, his face going slightly red, as he scratch the back of his neck.

“So... er uh... After you!” JFK said, as his head looking for an answer to this unforseen awkwardness. He pointed towards the car, before walking over and opening the door for Van Gogh.

Van Gogh blushed a bright red, as he slowly and cautiously stepped inside the red convertible, slowly settling into the brown leather seat. JFK practically jumped into the drivers seat, his hands already on the wheel as he rev the car, looking over at Van Gogh as he realize that Van Gogh had been staring at him dreamily the whole time. Van Gogh snapped out of his daydream, looking away from JFK as he pull his messy hair out of his face. JFK smiled, realizing that this was really happening, as Van Gogh sweat profusely out of embarrassment.

JFK started to drive down the road, occasionally looking over at Van Gogh, who was holding and staring at the bouquet of flowers that JFK had gotten him. Van Gogh admired the beautiful yellows, and the delicate brown center of each flower, and with each flower that he stared at, the more he got inspired for his own paintings. Just watching Van Gogh look at the flowers with awe made JFK smile wide, nodding to himself, knowing that he had done good.

JFK pulled and parked the car into the parking lot at the Grassy Knoll, and opened his door, opening Van Gogh’s as well, Van Gogh getting out and smiling nervously at JFK, setting down the bouquet on his seat. JFK looked around, noticing how empty the parking lot was. He looked down at Van Gogh, who was standing there twiddling his thumbs, with his eyes always looking down. JFK blushed as he slowly intertwined his pinky finger with Van Gogh’s, Van Gogh flinching and looking up at JFK, blushing as he looked back down, JFK slowly taking Van Gogh’s hand into his, before dragging Van Gogh up to the door triumphantly, Van Gogh trailing behind aimlessly. They arrived at the door and JFK opened it, immediately walking to the cash register, where he looked down at Van Gogh.

“Er uh... I’ll order us somethin’. You can pitch up a booth if ya’ want, Vinny.” JFK said, trying to smile warmly as to not startle or strike fear into Van Gogh. Van Gogh smiled faintly and nodded, walking over to the corner booth, where he shuffled into one of the red leathery seats, struggling to make himself comfortable as he looked outside.

As he looked out, Van Gogh stared at the beautiful stars, and the bright white moon. The only reason he hadn’t really spoken was because of how much this situation seemed like a fever dream to him. The idea of even talking to JFK seemed outlandish and incomprehensible. Van Gogh’s mind suddenly went to static, and a loud ringing noise echoed in his ears, as he cover them and close his eyes tightly. All his mind could think was everything that could’ve gone wrong. To calm himself down, Van Gogh looked over at JFK, who had already ordered and was waiting for their order,

Van Gogh’s mind somehow fixed itself, as he stare at JFK, his world seemingly in slow motion. It was like whenever JFK was around, Van Gogh’s senses would be all over the place, and it was hard to control, let alone understand. But when he stared at JFK, or heard his loud and odd accent voice, he seemed as though he was in a fairytale. JFK walked over to the table, as Van Gogh smiled faintly, the sight of JFK soothing him and making the loud and obnoxious ringing eventually disappear. JFK set a large chocolate milkshake on the table, two straws poking out of each end. Van Gogh smiled, remembering the cheesy trope from every highschool movie.

“It’s for us! The- er uh- milkshake, I mean.” JFK said, scratching the back of his head, blushing as he took a seat across from Van Gogh, Van Gogh turning his attention to JFK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for existingggg!!! <3


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